But first, there was a dinner recap of the best meals of the 11 days. Shockingly, no one took the pizza on Shelter Cove! Here's the list:
Barb: Black Sea bass at Hurley's (Napa Valley)
Karen: Quail with peaches (Waterbar, SF)
Michael: "I liked a lot of them" (though in fairness, he cited the "whole cow" the second night in Seattle & tonight's meal as his favorites)
Steve: Halibut with ratatouille (Vancouver)
The Waterbar, which, amazingly, sits right on the bay front almost under the Bay Bridge, served these delights -- three of us started with the shellfish and corn bisque, Barb had the peach salad. Then Karen had the quail; Michael had haddock with mussels in a red sauce; Barb had the salmon and I had the opah (not to be confused with the ubiquitous talk show host) over tabbouleh. Karen's quail (poor things!) is pictured.
We decided of the three places we ate in San Fran, the Waterbar was the one we would return to.
But that was the end of the day. The beginning was not a happy, pretty thing.
Over dinner last night, we decided the "smart thing" to do was to rent a car for the day, picking it up downtown around 9, with the S's, whose flight left later, returning it at the airport around 9 at night. It was determined we could get a Nissan Altima for $65 for the day & it would hold, snugly, all of us and the luggage.
Ah, gentle reader, sometimes clever ideas are just theoretical bullshit.
Michael and I left the hotel around 9, looking for a taxi. Even though we were on a main thoroughfare, nary a taxi flew by as they came down the hill toward us. "Let's walk up a block or two and see if one of the cross streets yields something," Michael rightly suggested. "Up" in San Fran is of course pretty literal -- the road rose at a 50 degree angle. Is that possible?
Nope, no sign of a taxi, not even a full one. A rare empty one ignored us.
So, we walked "up" a couple more blocks. Nothing.
"How far is it?" Michael asked. I looked at Google maps and it was 1.4 miles to walk. Some of it straight up the steep incline.
We climbed up another hill (if you think it's physically impossible to go up all these hills, you haven't been to San Francisco). At the cross street that was our path to the rental agent, we turned. It went uphill!
Let me point out, I am at least 25 pounds, probably 35, overweight and have sat behind a desk for the last six years. Cardio was what I was going to have to get out of that job.
We discussed defibrillators as we walked. He was raving about being in good enough condition to walk there, and started ignoring taxis. I was about to lay in the street to stop one. And laying not on purpose, but due to cardio collapse!
Finally, oh, finally! we started downhill. In fairness, it turned out the longest stretch was straight downhill. Michael said downhill bothered him more due to his knees; I told him I could roll down the hill.
Now, here's the thing, Google maps forgot to say "this is not a nice touristy walk." We walked past more homeless people than...well, there were a lot. One was nice enough to both pass out blocking the sidewalk and to leave his trousers around his knees. I was unaware San Fran had its own "valley of the moon" but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. And let me to tell you as a fashion statement right here -- no one should wear purple whitey tighties. No one!
We were lucky that the last left hand turn was after the hill, so this was a flat stretch. We were unlucky because we followed a garbage truck the last couple blocks and it was quite foul.
Ironically, in front of the Dollar rental car agency were three taxis waiting for fares. F*****s.
Having survived our version of the Bataan death march, we entered a new hell -- rental car check-in! We were not the only ones with the clever idea of renting a car downtown this morning. In fact, there was a line. Michael was not amused.
This non-amusement was exacerbated by the fact the three groups in front of us seemed incapable of checking out. It turned out the middle one was rejecting the car they had been given and the agent had no idea what to do; I have no idea about the others. I suspect they were on the no-drive list.
We finally got to the counter and "Mo" (it's really what his name tag said) greeted us. He looked at our order and said what he had for us was a Toyota Prius. We pointed out we had signed on for an Altima -- a full-sized car. He said "or similar." We pointed out that they weren't similar. He said he had no full-sized cars. He had a Corolla.
Or a Kia Forte.
Or a VW Jetta.
We did not have time to do a comparison of luggage space, but I guessed the Corolla was better than the Prius. Mo claimed the Prius was "large" (our sight comparisons later made Mo out to be f****d up), but gave us, proudly, the Corolla, which he pointed out was new (turns out it had just 500 miles on it). We should have gotten the Jetta, but that's another story.
After a quick, abortive attempt to get out of the dungeon parking garage, we found our way to the hotel.
We looked into the trunk. We calculated it was going to be quite the exercise in geometric puzzle solving.
And we found that our delightful Corolla did not come with remote control. Say "BT" (basic transportation).
I got my bags down first and put my largest deep in the not very deep compartment. When Michael arrived, he decided our largest bag was not geometrically appropriate for said position and started over. It quickly became clear that one bag was sitting in the back seat between Statler and Waldorf. But we got it all in, other than that -- 16 cubic feet of luggage in 13 cubic feet of space. Here's the pic:
Then we couldn't find the 4.5 star place Yelp had for breakfast four blocks away. Finally, we found it -- a tiny storefront, again, in not the nicest neighborhood. We were on Lombard; a foursome of tourists (like we weren't) asked Karen and Barb about Lombard St and the famous squiggly road. They had little English. After some miming by Barb, they understood they were on Lombard, it was east, yes, up a great hill, and quite a ways away. They thanked her and wondered about the trip.
The breakfast place deserved its stars. GoLo's. They used fresh ingredients in their huge omelets -- I had the breakfast burrito in honor of California, a mistake it turns out because their French toast, my go to, was made with their own homemade sourdough bread.
Then off to the Legion of Honor -- which was advertising an Impressionist exhibit.
Turns out there is no visual art on Monday in San Fran. Neither the Legion, nor its more modern sister the DeYoung, is open on Monday. So we were stuck on the side of a mountain without a plan.
So we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and went to Sausalito. Picture here:
In the end, Karen and Barb took the ferry back to Fisherman's Wharf. Having been warned by Mo, Michael and I took the Corolla the long way around the bay -- through Richmond & Oakland and across the Bay Bridge, where these days you can pay cash. You can't, FYI, on the Golden Gate. If you don't have a pre-paid system, they bill you and fine you. Michael is looking forward to this from Avis for the Edge, as he wanted to cross the GG coming into San Fran on Saturday. :)
From Fisherman's Wharf, and a quick view of the sea lions, we went to Coit Tower, pictured here. I figured one last cliched touristy photo was appropriate. Then to an early dinner and to the airport.
Thus, intrepid readers, we come to the end of our journey. I have some notes I will post once I catch up on my sleep after the redeye, with the appropriate accompanying photos. For those of you who enjoyed this, you will be pleased to hear the four of us enjoyed this trip so much we are planning another next year, covering the rest of California. The early list includes DisneyLand, Yosemite, Santa Barbara County wine country, Berkeley campus and the San Diego Zoo.
With that plan in mind, I wish you all bon voyage. Here is the link to the extra pictures, including all the food ones.
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